


Grand Gesture

by ladyspock7



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dark!Jim, Don't Worry Neither Jim nor Oswald Die, Don't copy to another site, Fluff and Smut, Jim tries to be a Murder Husband, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 01:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20417798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyspock7/pseuds/ladyspock7
Summary: Set in season 4. Jim witnesses Butch attacking Oswald, and decides enough is enough. If Oswald won't take steps to protect himself, then Jim will. Murder, angst, sex, and fluff, more or less in that order.





	Grand Gesture

**Author's Note:**

> Please note there is a character death, but it's not a major character, at least I don't think so. Jim and Oswald are very much alive by the end of this tale. Jim commits the ultimate crime to save Oswald, and get his attention.

Catching sight of Oswald on the street was pure luck.

Or divine providence, maybe, and it wasn't like Jim had much evidence that Oswald was up to any funny business currently, except that Oswald Cobblepot, if he was alive and breathing, was always up to something.

Reason enough to tail him.

Oswald must have something pretty pressing on his mind; usually he was cautious to the point of paranoia, but though Jim was ready to duck around the nearest corner at any hint that Oswald sensed he was being followed, the other man didn't so much as glance around as he made his way down the block and went into a dive bar.

Jim felt a flicker of annoyance. Oswald needed to be more careful.

Then again, maybe he was. He could be ditching Jim right now.

Jim broke into a run, ignoring the nagging feeling that he was making shit up, using any excuse to see Oswald again.

Jim hurried into the bar, stopped dead.

Butch, or Solomon Grundy as he tended to call himself these days, had his chalk-white hands around Oswald's throat, throttling him.

Jim should have gone for his gun. He should have gone into “GCPD, put your hands up” mode.

Instead, he reached for the brass knuckles in his coat. He shouldn't have them. Very much against regulations.

Two energies launched him forward and blotted out all other considerations.

Oswald was his. And Butch was going to pay.

He got Butch into a headlock and proceeded to pound the living hell out of the man's face and head, until through the red haze he realized that Oswald was yanking at his collar and shouting at him to stop in an increasingly panicked voice.

Butch was sagging in his grip.

He let the bigger man collapse to the ground and stood over him, panting, Oswald gripping his arm, and after a few tense moments, Butch let out a huff and began to rise to hands and knees.

Oswald pulled at his arm again. “You have to get out of here,” he said.

Jim let Oswald drag him outside and around the corner to an alley, stopping under flickering sodium lights.

Oswald's eyes glittered, made all the more striking by eyeliner and anger, and while the man huffily straightened out his shirt and fur-lined jacket which Grundy had messed up by manhandling him, Jim drank in the sight, the upswept hair, a few locks astray, the elegant cut of his suit jacket.

He dragged his eyes back up to meet Oswald's. The other man glared back with equal parts fury and confusion, and Jim could see the wheels turning as Oswald attempted to figure out why Jim Gordon was acting like a complete maniac.

“What the hell is this?” Oswald snapped, grabbing Jim's wrist and holding up the hand with the brass knuckles.

Jim took off the offending item, noting a smear of blood, and put them away.

“Butch is too strong. Needed an edge,” he said, knowing it didn't really explain anything, but he couldn't answer Oswald's real question. Too many emotions were bunching up in his chest and he couldn't put a name to any of them.

Oswald glared at him. “I have worked too hard and put up with far too much to have you ruin my partnership with your hero complex.”

“You're working with him?”

“That happens to be my goal. And as for what, that is certainly not any of your business,” he added, pre-emptively answering any nosy questions Jim might have asked.

Jim felt as if the air was thickening, clogging his throat. The red marks standing out on Oswald's neck made Jim want to go back inside and finish what he started.

“Oswald, he was strangling you,” he said.

Oswald rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. He was merely upset, he tends to get physical when he can't wrap his tiny brain around a concept. It would have passed.” He waved a dismissive hand, as if the assault was a minor annoyance and of no consequence.

Jim took a step toward him, voice rising, “How can you...”

Oswald lifted his chin, face hardening.

With some effort Jim reined it in. Shouting would only make Oswald more obstinate. He tried again. “Oswald,” he said more quietly. “You can't let him get away with treating you like that.”

“This has nothing to do with you, captain,” Oswald snapped. “My meeting with Grundy will not pose any threat to the good citizens of Gotham, I assure you. I have the situation completely under control. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to try to salvage this mess.”

Jim clenched his fists and followed Oswald around the corner.

Oswald rounded on him at the entrance. “Get lost,” he said through his teeth. “Can't you take a hint?”

“You're not going back in there alone,” Jim snapped.

Oswald stabbed the tip of his umbrella into the sidewalk. “God, you are so stubborn!”

He levelled a glare at Jim, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You stay by the door. I will talk to him in the back.” He punctuated each statement with a jab. “And if you even think about eavesdropping, I will...you...will regret it,” he stammered, his rage slipping briefly into uncertainty.

With a final warning glare he slammed back inside, Jim on his heels.

The bar was empty except for the bartender giving them the stink-eye as he mopped the blood off the floor, and a few customers lurking in the corners. Butch was gone.

Oswald blistered the air with curses and raised his fists.

Jim took a step back. He didn't really think Oswald would attack him, but it was smart to be out of range of shrapnel, at least until Oswald wore himself out. To his surprise, instead of smashing the nearest chair or sweeping the glasses off the bar, Oswald took a deep breath and straightened up, visibly getting a hold of himself.

When he turned to Jim it was with a savage calm that Jim found impressive, and far too attractive, especially with the rage simmering under the surface. Like lightning flashing inside storm clouds.

“As you can see, Captain, I have no further need of your assistance this fine evening,” Oswald said tightly. “Good night.”

He walked out the door. And out of Jim's life. Again.

\- - - - - -

Jim went back to his own place, still angry, wondering what in the hell Oswald had gotten himself into this time. His ribs were starting to hurt. Butch had gotten in a couple of blows despite being taken by surprise and Jim hadn't even felt them.

A shower cleaned off the sweat of the day, but thoughts of Oswald weren't so easily washed away.

Was Oswald really so hard up for allies that he had to put up with some brute choking him?

He settled onto the couch in front of the TV very carefully, his side throbbing in earnest. Maybe a rib was broken. His right arm ached all the way up to his elbow from his efforts to beat Butch into unconsciousness.

While he nursed a scotch and his various aches, he ran over the night's events, untangling the knot of emotions that had welled up at the sight of Oswald getting choked, of Oswald's hair in disarray, the way his eyes glittered.

He'd actually been happy to see Oswald again. Relieved. Maybe excited, a little. If something big was going down in Gotham's underworld, Oswald either knew about it, was trying to muscle in on it, or was causing it.

But it wasn't the likelihood of action that caused that thrill of excitement within him, or at least not only that.

The protectiveness, as inappropriate as it was, and clearly misplaced. That overwhelming sense that Oswald was _his_.

He groaned and closed his eyes. Oswald wasn't his _anything_. Not an ally, not an informant, certainly not a friend, not anymore, and Jim had only himself to blame.

But Jim wanted him to be... Fuck, he just wanted him. That was it.

Whatever Oswald was cooking up, it was important enough that not even Jim's presence was enough to stop him from talking to Butch, risking his well-being and his life.

Jim took another drink, leg jiggling impatiently, wanting to do something, and settled for pacing around the apartment.

Oswald would seek out Butch again and Jim didn't like that, he'd heard what Butch did in the fights at Cherry's, but there was damn little he could do about it. Oswald was drawn to power like a moth to a flame, and there was no doubt in Jim's mind that he was seeking to re-establish his criminal empire. 

The softer parts of Jim's life had been seared away by the relentless grind of the city, by his own mistakes and bad decisions, leaving him with nothing but work and too much of it. He spent most of his time shouting at people and going up against increasingly insane criminals.

Except for Oswald, who at least had some restraint, and whose brand of controlled illegal activity was looking more and more like Gotham's best chance for stability.

Jim was tired of fighting Oswald. Tired of fighting his attraction. Oswald had made himself indispensable in the orderly running of Gotham's underworld, and removing him from power only led to disaster. For the city and for his personal life.

And damn, Oswald had looked good. Oswald always did, no matter how disheveled. There was a fancy word for it, too, he thought he'd heard Oswald use it once. Dishabille.

It wasn't like his attraction to Oswald was anything new, but now, without Jim's excuse of being in a relationship with someone else, his feelings for Oswald were too raw, too close to the surface.

Would Oswald allow Jim to protect him? He snorted and downed another shot, head buzzing. Yeah, right. Oswald sure as hell wouldn't. There must be a limit on how often Oswald could forgive Jim's betrayals, and Jim was sure he'd reached it.

He'd wanted to tuck those loose hairs back into place in Oswald's elaborate hairstyle, to smooth the lapels on his coat. To see if Oswald's angry expression might soften a little. Maybe he would have agreed to go with Jim someplace else, getting him away from Butch for a start, to talk.  
He dragged a hand through his hair. There had to be something he could do to gain Oswald's trust, to show how much he...

He stopped short, watching his shadow dance on the wall as the idea lurking in the corners of his mind rose to the front.

Jim drained the shot glass, quickly poured and downed another, blood singing in his ears.

He shouldn't be feeling this much excitement over such an incredibly evil plan, but it was so crystal clear. Wasn't like he hadn't done anything like this before. Breached that fragile line between murder and self defense, or defense of another. Hell, he'd trampled all over that line a few times.

He would see to it that Butch didn't lay hands on Oswald again. It would be his gift to Oswald.

\- - - - - -

Sobered up the next day, the plan still seemed sound.

He could have gone with a tried and true tactic used by police forces everywhere and arrested Butch for jaywalking, for loitering, hell, he could have landed the man in jail for at least forty-eight hours until he found charges that would stick. Dug up a victim of Solomon Grundy's numerous assaults who was willing to press charges.

But he didn't. He would deal with this directly, and with finality.

Later, he could have claimed he'd simply snapped, but he was better acquainted with the darkness within and it was no use pretending. Oswald would see right through it anyway, and that was the only opinion that mattered.

He'd never really been able to lie to Oswald, and in his own way, no matter how much he twisted and bent the truth to suit his own purposes, Oswald was honest with Jim. Pretty much. Mostly.

Figuring out how Oswald's mind worked was a challenge in and of itself, another thing that was so compelling, no matter how infuriating the man could be.

It was the rest of the world Jim would have to watch out for. He would cover his tracks. He wouldn't burden Harvey or any of his other friends with even a hint of his intentions.

He hoped Oswald understood.

\- - - - - -

Butch, his pale face swollen and eye blackened, returned to the same dive bar, his usual haunt as Jim suspected. Jim would act fast, before Oswald showed up.

He intercepted Butch before he got to the place, forced him at gunpoint into the same alley where Oswald scolded Jim, and sure enough, Butch was unimpressed by Jim's promise of retribution if he laid hands on Oswald again.

Jim had wanted to offer him one more slim chance to do right by Oswald. Clearly, that wasn't going to happen.

“Go fuck yourself,” Butch said, sullen, brutish, and so weary that Jim almost felt sorry for him. “That little freak comes near me again, I'll break his neck.”

“No, you won't,” Jim said, and took aim, fired.

\- - - - - -

The gun couldn't be traced, though he wished he'd thought of a silencer. For insurance he wore gloves, and got rid of it afterwards by taking a leisurely stroll on the docks and dropping it into the water.

\- - - - - - -

Not as sangfroid as he thought, (French words were invading in little snatches here and there, and he damn well knew why) he was feeling unwell enough that he called in sick the next day.

Knew it would cause concern, in Harvey at least, but he was unable to put the energy into caring.

It wasn't guilt that overwhelmed him. It was heartache, and he feared that Oswald might not bother coming for him, not even to cuss him out for ruining his plans.

He put some thought into his clothes, wondered how best to present himself, if Oswald decided to come confront him, that is, and maybe looking scruffy and pathetic might prompt some compassion in Oswald, save Jim from getting chewed out too badly, but he wasn't going to use that sort of cheap tactic. The truth was he didn't feel particularly upset about what he'd done anyway. No use pretending.

He's been careful to shower after confronting Butch last night, so he shaved, dressed semi-casually in clean clothes because it seemed a little silly to put on a full suit just for staying at home, but he wanted to look halfway decent for Oswald.

He spent the day on the couch with the curtains drawn and the television on the movie channel so he didn't have to accidentally see the news, waiting.

\- - - - -

Jim started awake at the sharp knocking.

He stared at the door until the knocking started up again, sounding more impatient.

He shuffled to his feet. It didn't sound like Harvey's heavy pounding.

He barely got the locks undone before Oswald shoved his way in, shutting the door immediately and locking it again, then sweeping past Jim and turning to him in the middle of the room.

Jim's breath caught in his throat at the sight of Oswald there, standing on the ugly carpet, brilliant, imperious and scowling, his lips pursed and arms crossed.

“That's how you open the door?” Oswald snapped. “You let just anybody waltz in? You need to protect yourself better than that.”

“From who?”

“Tabitha, dammit. Did that occur to you at any point?”

Jim scratched his arm. He hadn't expected this line of questioning. “I thought she broke up with him.”

“That hardly matters. She saw him as belonging to her, nonetheless, and she hoped there would be a cure for his condition some day, and you took him away. And I hope you don't expect any help from me to sort out this mess. My resources are at a bare minimum, I have no allies, hardly any funds, my house is overrun by maniacs, what the hell do you expect me to do? It's impossible, so don't even ask.”

Jim lifted his head, feeling his neck tighten. “Who's in your house?”

“Never you mind,” Oswald snapped, his frustration sending him across the floor in restless pacing. “That is not the issue here. He had very few associates, it won't take Tabitha very long to narrow down the list of suspects.”

Oswald's voice grew raspier the longer he talked, and he paused to swallow, closing his eyes in pain. Jim's teeth clenched, wished briefly he could kill Butch all over again. “What about last night?” Jim asked. “Anyone see me?”

Oswald took a few hard breaths. “No. I don't believe so,” he said at last, reluctant to give up his tirade. “But my network isn't what it once was.”

He chewed his lip and tapped his umbrella on the floor. “Of course, your reputation generally precludes such reckless action,” he muttered to himself. “You may not even be on her radar.”

“How did you know it was me?” Jim wasn't surprised Oswald figured it out, but he was curious as to how.

Oswald gave him a withering look. “I wasn't entirely sure, until you opened the door. Guilt's all over your face, like you expect a scolding. You weren't surprised to see me, and you still haven't asked who the hell I'm talking about.”

He shot to Jim's side, like an adder striking, smiling madly. “Who'd ya kill last night, Jim? Maybe I've got it wrong.”

Jim huffed out a little sigh. “Butch Gilzean.”

“And you say it out loud, just like that,” Oswald shouted, flapping his arm so it fell against his side with a slap. “How do you know I'm not wearing a wire? Hm? Unbelievable. I don't know why I'm wasting my time.”

“Oswald, I'm pretty sure you're not recording this,” Jim said quietly, but Oswald was storming across the room again, anger in every line of his body.

He hung his umbrella on the back of one of the kitchen chairs and paced back into the living room. “Were you trying to build a case against me? Butch doesn't know anything. Didn't know anything.”

He flapped his arms again as he snapped, “The GCPD is investigating it as a murder. Investigating, Jim! Though I don't imagine they'll do it with much enthusiasm, not for that brute. I can't believe you didn't report it,” he cried, pacing again, unable to keep still. “There wouldn't have been any ramifications for the great Jim Gordon shooting down a criminal. Unless you tried to make a deal and it went south?” His voice rose with a questioning lilt. Still guessing, trying to figure it out.

Oswald had learned a great deal very quickly, despite his protests about his reduced circumstances. He must have at least one useful plant in the GCPD. “I had to stop him.”

“So you tried to arrest him.”

“No.” He tried to will his feelings into his gaze, tried to make Oswald understand. “I did it for you.”

Something in his tone or his face must have gotten through, because Oswald stopped pacing abruptly, ran his gaze over Jim again, searching for new information. “Did what, precisely?”

Jim licked his lips. “I killed him. For you.”

Oswald's eyes widened and his lips parted though no sound came out. It went perfectly quiet in the apartment, a moment of stillness between the two of them as they regarded each other, Oswald's bewilderment overcoming his anger, and he was waiting, waiting to hear what Jim had to say.

Jim wiped his mouth, knew he needed to fill the void. He owed Oswald that much. “I couldn't let him hurt you again. Not now. Not ever.”

He took a step forward, cautiously.

Oswald continued to stare, wide-eyed, so he went on. “I've spent too much time tearing you down and it's brought nothing but disaster to the city. And to me,” Jim said. “I've been thinking our goals aren't so different. We both want stability for Gotham, and I can't keep denying my feelings for you. I wanted to see what would happen if, instead of fighting you, I backed you up. I didn't know how else to prove it to you. That I want you. I...I need you, Oswald,” he stammered to a halt, ducked his head, suddenly afraid.

He'd gone about this all wrong, Oswald must be so pissed off, he'd ruined Oswald's plans, he'd just said he barely had any money left, Jim knew damn well Oswald's assets were still frozen. Oswald's latest scheme, whatever it was, must have cost him money he could ill afford, and Jim must have screwed it all up yet again.

He looked up as Oswald stepped closer.

Oswald's entire face was alight something like wonder. “You killed him for me?” he whispered, and he lifted his hand as if to touch Jim's face but stopped short, drew back a little as wariness returned.

Jim ached at that, knew he was partly to blame for Oswald's fear of another betrayal, yet another set-up for a downfall, that this was somehow a trap.

He took hold of Oswald's hand and pressed a kiss into his palm. “Yes,” Jim whispered, heat rushing through him so he felt he would combust.

Oswald's last defenses crumbled. “That's the most romantic thing I ever ...I...oh, Jim.” Oswald breathed his name with something like reverence and the distance between them disappeared as Oswald melted into his embrace.

He was burning, Oswald's hands were in his hair and Jim wrapped his arms around Oswald's back and kissed him and kissed him, pressing their bodies together, and he ran his hands over the stylish suit, over Oswald's back and sides over and over again.

He gripped Oswald's hips, Oswald whimpered and moaned into his mouth, and Jim swallowed the sounds greedily.

That damn suit, fine as it was, was in his way, and he pushed the jacket off Oswald's shoulders for starters, and Oswald assisted readily, letting his arms hang loose so the jacket fell behind him.

He pushed Oswald flat onto the couch and climbed on top of him. He made an attempt to undo Oswald's tie, gently, because of the bruises visible above Oswald's collar, but the knot was a complicated affair and his fingers were clumsy. Oswald took over, while Jim worked on pulling the ends of Oswald's shirt out of his waistband.

The suspenders complicated matters, however. He realized he was going to have to get up to get Oswald properly naked, but it felt too good, right where he was, and for the moment he settled for grinding against Oswald's hip, wanting Oswald to feel how hard he was for him. He cupped Oswald through his pants, was pleased to find Oswald hard, too.

He stroked him, feeling the shape of him, while Oswald groaned and rocked into Jim's hand.

Oswald's tie was gone, lost to the floor somewhere, his collar undone, and Jim lightly kissed the spot under his ear, the soft place where his jaw met his neck, above the bruises, and felt for the button on Oswald's pants.

“Jim,” Oswald gasped. “Not here. I want to be in your bed. My first time, I...” He bit the words off, mouth shutting with a click, and his movements slowed as if he was embarrassed, as if he'd revealed a terrible secret.

Jim kissed him under his jaw again, considered. Wondered what that business with Nygma had been about, but no way in hell was he about to open that line of questioning, as he truly didn't give a flying fuck and he didn't want Oswald thinking about another man.

But if this was Oswald's first time he probably shouldn't ravage him on the spot and Jim was grateful for the pause. It reminded him to savor this moment, to take his time.

He ran his hand over Oswald's hardness again. Oswald drew a shuddering breath and his eyes closed as he bunched up Jim's shirt at the shoulders, and Jim relished every whispered “yes” and “Jim” and “so good.”

With considerable willpower Jim pushed himself upright, holding out a hand to assist Oswald to his feet, and he led Oswald to his bedroom.

He stripped quickly, shucking off his clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor. Oswald took a little longer, so Jim busied himself pulling back the blankets, then realized that the rest of the things they needed weren't in the nightstand much to his irritation, and he spent some time rummaging around before finally discovering the necessities in his sock drawer.

When he turned around Oswald still hadn't finished, was stepping out of his pants, slowly. He glanced at what Jim was holding and looked away hurriedly, blushing to the roots of his hair.

His boxers were silk by the looks of it, and Jim set the lube and condoms on the nightstand, taking the opportunity to walk up behind him and slip his hands around him.

Oswald trembled, but he leaned back against him while Jim ran soothing strokes up and down his arms. That silk felt damn good, and Jim moved his hips in a little circle.

“We don't have to,” he murmured into his ear and inhaling the scent of his hair, the hint of shampoo.

Oswald snorted. “If you think I'm backing out now you are very much mistaken,” he said, pulling Jim's arms firmly around his waist. Jim squeezed him tight, nuzzled into the hair behind Oswald's ear.

“What do you think you'd like?” he asked, kissing Oswald's shoulder. “I'm open to suggestion.”

Oswald turned within Jim's embrace to loop his arms over his shoulders. “I want you inside me,” he announced with a mix of nervousness and determination that ignited a fresh wave of heat in Jim, set off a deepening desire to be worthy of Oswald's trust.

Oswald ducked his head, suddenly shy. “Um. Can I touch you?”

“Anywhere you want,” Jim said, pitching his voice low. “As long as I can return the favor.”

A little smile tugged at Oswald's mouth. “Well, we know all about favors, don't we.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, feeling the stirrings of real happiness for the first time in months.

They stood there for a time while Oswald ran his hands over Jim's pectorals, thumbs stroking over nipples and making Jim groan, ran his hands down his sides. Oswald was mindful of the deep bruise on Jim's side, and his questing fingers avoided the painful patch.

His hands continued up Jim's back, while Jim kept his hands on his shoulders and tried not to grind against him too much, while he gave Oswald little kisses, on his lips, the corner of his mouth, along his jaw.

Sank onto the bed in relief when Oswald asked to lie down, didn't stare when Oswald at last took off his underwear, but when Oswald crawled into bed, Jim wasted no time climbing on top of him.

He kissed his chest, taking time to suck at his pink nipples and make him squirm, then kissed him all the way down, leaving wet circles on his chest and stomach, closed his mouth over the head of Oswald's cock.

He savored the wonderful little sounds Oswald was making, until Oswald gasped, “I need you inside me, Jim. I need you.”

He kissed the inside of his thigh. With lube-slick fingers he gently worked Oswald open, felt the pulse of his own cock at the sound of Oswald's little pants, the sight of Oswald's hands gripping the mattress above his head.

He took one of the pillows and put it under Oswald's butt, Oswald lifting his hips to assist him. He pushed Oswald's thighs further apart with his knees. Oswald's eyes were closed and he panted shakily.

“Oz,” Jim said quietly, and Oswald's eyes snapped open, locking onto his. Jim was flooded with passion, with need, with gratitude that he got to be here with Oswald like this, was finally allowed to touch him, to love him.

He leaned down to seize Oswald's lips in a kiss, then knelt back on his heels, rolled the condom on and slicked himself up, wondered at the price he would pay, feeling the precariousness of their situation, not knowing how long it would last before the law caught up with one or the both of them.

It lent an urgency to his actions, heightened the tenderness. With stark clarity he realized he might not have much time, so little time to show Oswald how much he cared for him.

The despair must have shown on his face because Oswald's gaze sharpened. “What is it?”

Oswald lay splayed before him, waiting for him, and he was wasting time better spent loving him. He wasn't going to give voice to his fears. That could wait for later. He offered Oswald another truth. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered.

Oswald's flush deepened, but there was a knowing in his expression that warned Jim of a serious talk to come later. Oswald had probably already run through a dozen different ways their relationship could be exposed and might come crashing down around them. Maybe that was why he'd insisted on going all the way, on letting Jim fuck him. They could be on borrowed time.

And he'd chosen to stay anyway. With Jim.

Oswald's nostrils flared. “Then get on with it, captain.”

The determined bravado brought a smile to Jim's face. He entered slowly, giving Oswald time to adjust, watching carefully for signs of distress, because despite the fact that he'd told Oswald to let him know if something didn't feel right or that he was moving too fast, he worried Oswald might stubbornly grit his teeth and bear it, to simply endure it out of a desire to please Jim.

“Oh,” Oswald said. Then, “Oh!” he cried, and his head rolled back against the pillow.

Every emotion transformed Oswald's features, the moans and little cries coming from his mouth were so sweet, so hot, Jim picked up the pace a little, burying himself to the hilt, drawing half out and thrusting in again. He got into the rhythm of it, the sweet rocking, and was rewarded with Oswald digging his fingers into Jim's back, stroking Jim's arms and running his slender fingers through his hair, arching against Jim.

Those awful bruises kept Jim from burying his face into his beautiful neck, so he mouthed at Oswald's collarbone instead, nibbled at where his neck joined his shoulders.

Oswald wound his legs around Jim's sides, making little rocking motions into Jim's thrusts, and the pleasure built, a pleasant pressure deep within, his own breathing getting harsher, Oswald's hard cock sliding between their bellies.

“You're so hot, baby,” Jim gasped. “Fuck. I...” He clamped his mouth shut. He'd been reprimanded in the past for cursing by some of his lovers.

Oswald kissed his neck, teeth nibbling, sending a sharp tingle through Jim. “Oh, don't stop. Tell me more,” Oswald moaned, and swiped him with his tongue.

A shiver went down Jim's spine and he thrust into him faster. “Baby, you're so fucking sweet. Could fuck you all night. You and your tight little ass.”

The pressure built, crested, a wave pulsed through him and he buried himself to the hilt as he came, groaning loud in Oswald's ear, grinding into him.

He collapsed, panting, onto Oswald, the other man's warm arms holding him tight.

Oswald moved under him, rocked his hips a little, and Jim came out of his daze to respond to the unspoken plea. Oswald wasn't finished.

“I got you, babe,” he said, moving onto his side so he could slide his arm under Oswald's shoulders and wrap his other hand around Oswald's cock.

Oswald rocked into his grip and clung to him, panting, thrusting into Jim's hand, and Jim watched as he climaxed, crying out, spilling over Jim's hand and pressing his forehead in the crook of Jim's neck.

\- - - - - -

After Jim got them cleaned up with wet washcloths, he asked Oswald if he would like tea and an ice pack. He'd noticed Oswald's voice growing raspy again. Oswald politely declined the ice pack, but accepted the tea, and the surprise and gratitude in Oswald's face and voice made something in Jim's chest tighten with shame. It was as if Oswald could hardly believe Jim would make such a kind offer.

True, an awful lot had been happening, but that was no excuse. Silently he vowed to see to it that Oswald got whatever comforts he needed, whenever he needed them. He deserved no less.

He went to the kitchen buck naked, and when he came back with the steaming mug several minutes later, Oswald hummed appreciatively. “That's what I call room service.”

Jim smiled wide as he strutted over to the bed. “I aim to please.”

“You do. Both coming and going,” Oswald said with an appreciative smirk. “I have half a mind to send you out on another errand.”

Oswald sat up with a pillow against the headboard and took the mug in both hands. Jim settled down to lay his head against Oswald's hip and drape his arm over Oswald's blanketed lap.

Oswald giggled. “You're taking quite a risk. Touch me in the wrong place you might get burned.”

“I'll be careful.” Jim smiled against his man's hip. “Find your ticklish spots later.”

Oswald shook with laughter but kept the mug steady. “You son of a bitch.”

Having gone into mild contortions a few minutes previously to avoid getting hit by hot water droplets as he poured the water onto the tea bag, Jim was as good as his word. He lay quietly while Oswald blew on his tea, sipped, relaxed against the pillow.

Oswald stroked his hair. “Impressive that you had chamomile in your cupboard.”

Jim grunted. “Tried out some sleep remedies. Can't say they helped.”

Oswald's gentle fingers in his hair were so soothing that along with the pleasant apathy in his body after the exertions of sex Jim was lulled into a doze, but he opened his eyes again when Oswald set the mug down with a soft clunk.

Oswald shifted down under the covers. Jim was about to say something clever about being ready for round two, but Oswald's serious expression stopped him.

“You have to promise me you'll never do that again,” Oswald said.

“What, this?” Jim squeezed his butt.

Oswald tried to frown but didn't quite succeed. “Ha, ha. I absolutely want to do this again. I meant what happened with Butch.”

“Thought you liked the grand gesture.” He kissed Oswald's left pec.

“I most certainly appreciated it. Indeed, it quite swept me off my feet,” Oswald said, gazing at him so fondly that it warmed Jim clear through.  
Oswald grew somber, more calculating as he stroked Jim's arm. “It's not good for you, James. The compromise to your integrity, it eats at you. I can see it.”

“So I should leave the murdering to you?”

“I really I don't know what you're talking about,” Oswald said calmly. “Promise me.”

Jim shifted up onto his elbow with a slow sigh. “Don't know how much integrity I have left.”

“Don't say that,” Oswald said. “You may sometimes be driven to commit questionable acts, but you always cleave to what is right.”

“I'm not some hero. I thought that was pretty clear by now.”

“You're _my_ hero, James.”

Jim swallowed thickly, taken off guard by the sting of tears in his eyes. Oswald gripped his hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it until Jim could get a hold of himself.

Without comment, Oswald handed him a kleenex from the nightstand. Jim lay back and wiped his eyes. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and wondered at the irony of it, that a known murderer and criminal should make him want to be a better person.

“I can't promise that I won't kill again to protect you,” he said. “But I will promise,” he added, as Oswald opened his mouth to protest, “to consider other ways before getting drastic.”

He paused. “Besides, I'll have an expert to consult.”

Oswald tsked. ”Again, I honestly do not know what you're going on about with this murder talk,” he said drily.

Jim carefully chose his next words. “What was so special about Butch? There's gotta be other muscle men you could hire.”

Oswald's eyes were hooded. “I admit that I'm not sorry he's dead,” he said slowly. “And yes, there are others I can employ. My ultimate goal for Butch is not something you need to know, Jim.”

“Oswald, I don't want to pry into your work,” he said, and exactly when 'work' replaced 'schemes' in Jim's mind, he couldn't have said. This was Oswald's path, and Jim accepted it. “But I need you to know that I'm here for you.”

Jim laid his palm on Oswald's cheek. “Anything I can do for you, I will. I'll protect you, if you let me. If you need help getting rid of some uninvited guests, or...”

Oswald picked at the blanket. “The situation requires a certain amount of tact.”

Names came to mind of Oswald's usual associates, especially the ones powerful enough to force him into doing things he didn't want to do.  
There weren't many, and one in particular rose to the front. “Jerome?”

“Stay away from my house,” Oswald snapped, lifting his head, radiating fear and anger in equal measure. “You'll get yourself killed, running in with guns blazing. I've never seen so many mindless followers, you mustn't...” He heaved out a sigh and let his head fall to the pillow again, squeezing Jim's arm in apology.

“Are you safe?” Jim asked, keeping his voice quiet, but dread curled in his stomach.

“As safe as I ever am,” Oswald said, lips curling into a cold smile that did little to reassure Jim. 

Oswald's expression softened, calculation in his eyes as he thought about how much to reveal. “I'll let you know more later, when I can. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that Jerome is planning something big, but I need time to think. This.” He gestured eloquently at the both of them. “Us. Changes things.”

Jim cupped his jaw. “Stay safe, okay? Anything happens, you need a place to stay, call me right away. Anytime.”

Oswald's eyes shone. “Only if you promise the same,” he said fiercely. “I don't want to turn on the news and hear you've gotten yourself killed in some suicidal attempt at heroism. And watch your back.”

Jim nodded. “I will.”

He was rewarded with Oswald's beatific smile, and he leaned in to seal the agreement with a kiss.

As he lay on his back with Oswald nestled against his chest, the feeling of rightness grew within him despite the everpresent danger. The acceptance of love for Oswald, their shared determination to keep order, twining together. Despite the danger, the everpresent gloom of the city was at bay for a short while, and Jim was finally on the right path.

It would be a rough and twisting one, but he would walk it with Oswald.


End file.
